


Of Bangles and Vandals

by velaijn



Series: Friday's Rhymes [3]
Category: Friday Night Funkin' (Video Game), Pico's School (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Attempted Slowburn, M/M, Mention of Police, Mentions of alcohol, Swearing, Vandalism, mentions of Jail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velaijn/pseuds/velaijn
Summary: Where Pico is a V2F (Vandal For Fun) and Keith is a bartender.Pico-centric.Characters included :PicoBoyfriend/KeithGirlfriend/Lillian/LynnNeneDarnellSkid & Pump (mentioned/named)Cassandra (mentioned)Father / LuisMother
Relationships: Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin') & Pico (Pico's School), Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School), Girlfriend (Friday Night Funkin') & Pico (Pico's School), Implied Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Girlfriend (Friday Night Funkin'), Implied Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School)
Series: Friday's Rhymes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117799
Comments: 14
Kudos: 138





	1. Daiquiri

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Go Pico.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28616571) by [pippykat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippykat/pseuds/pippykat). 



> This is dedicated to everyone who supported A&A and C&F.  
> i hope you all know this is a gift for you :))  
> please stay safe everyone!
> 
> (user pippykat inspired me to write an AU  
> i somehow forgot that,,, sorry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pico is bored so he goes to the newest bar in town.  
> Things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh.  
> This’ll be fun.

January.

A new year for Pico, Nene, and Darnell.

It’s been a few good years since the shooting at their school.

Of course, they blamed themselves to some extent.

No one wants to live with the guilt _alone_.

Pico, especially, is ridden by guilt.

The smell of blood wafting into his nose is a smell he doesn’t need a reminder of – it’s filth.

(Monthly cycles are a different matter, however.)

They don’t have a personal vendetta against school.

Soon, Nene and Darnell got themselves enrolled in a good school built a couple of miles away from their old one, where Cassandra…y’know.

Pico went with the mindset that bad things would happen if he attended school.

(And so, he didn’t. He never saw a problem with it.)

Besides, both his friends could … _teach_ him, he was smart to an extent.

(For fuck’s sake, he’d been the only student to touch an apple in his class before the incident.)

As ‘payment’ for lessons, Pico drives them around, whether to that good ol’ high school (or was it a uni? Pico isn’t for details.) or the local mall or that stupid Burger Queen.

Today, however, Pico's bored.

Bored enough to want to drink.

(He's legal, damn it! He should be able to drink!)

[This feels so wrong, Pico knows. But what’s the harm in drinking if officials have given up on your sorry ass, he laughs to himself.]

Pico is 20.

Pico _was_ 20, damn, grammar.

He’s 21 now.

(Now that doesn’t make it much better, huh?)

…

Since he’d -

one: vacuumed all the rooms in their shared home,

two: cleaned like, three shelves, and,

three: worked his magic with the rack of ribs Nene had been craving for thirteen straight weeks,

Pico figured he could treat himself.

Treat himself to a drink.

Or two.

... ~~Or three~~.

There are three bars where they live.

He’s tasted the stuff from the first 2, old and sour and nostalgic.

it’s about time Pico lets his taste buds have a treat or two.

The Angels and Kings bar was opened in November of the previous year, but since Nene and Darnell had been good students, they were given leaves.

Or something along those lines.

He hasn’t been able to check it out, until today.

When Pico parks his motorcycle like a good citizen of his messed up vandalized town (he’s responsible for the tiny kids vs school graffitis on the sidewalk), he finds himself stumbling into the bar.

He can hear two employees play-fighting in the back, as he examines the bar.

Soft, ‘aesthetic’ LED lights strung over the bar area.

A shit ton of seats of various kinds away from the main bar area, couches, love seat, singletons.

The bar stools were the kind that’re wooden, scratched with age and use.

A variety of bottles are on the shelves, their colors displaying vividly with the way the lights bounce off their glassy exteriors.

The play fights slowly fade as Pico sits himself on a stool, then waits.

“Keithy, I think we have a customer.”

“Oh, wait, really?”

“I heard the bell chime. Looks to be your type too!”

(Her next cheer doesn’t go past Pico’s insouciance. : _“Go get ‘im, tiger!”_ )

The barista for that afternoon is a ~~twink~~ a good-looking blue-haired kid probably the same age as him.

“Um, welcome to Angels and Kings!”

He greets, a warm smile on his face.

“What… can I get for you today?”

Pico doesn’t need a menu, yet he’s offered one.

Immediately, he whispers out a low “amber moon.”

The barista leans closer, and Pico can see the guy’s name tag: Keith.

He mumbles, a little louder : “An amber moon.”

His voice rumbles from his chest slightly.

…

Alarmed.

Alarmed and terrified are the only words he can use to describe the waves of emotion being written and scribbled and painted on the barista’s face.

Terror.

“...Please tell me you’re joking.”

Pico chuckles as he eyes the shining bangle on the bartender’s slender wrist.

“No, I was testin’ ya. Get me a Hemingway Special, and we’ll be best buds.”

Keith nods, immediately getting to work.

Keith pours grapefruit juice, lime juice, rum and maraschino liqueur a little clumsily.

Well, that’s fine.

Pico’s eyebrow raises when he watches Keith take out two ice cubes of decent sizes, toss them into a larger tin cup and pour his mixture into it.

Pico’s smirk appears when he watches Keith shake the two tins to create his order.

When the Hemingway is served, Pico has the time of his life trying to scowl at Keith.

~~(He needs to in order to preserve his tough wall.)~~

Redness, Pico presumes, is an essential part of Keith’s face.

Redness, Pico adds, does _not_ belong to the walls and floor of a school.

…

Ah, the simplicity of a Hemingway.

Pico likes the way the lights reflect off of Keith’s hair, making him look more ~~of a twink~~ kind, ‘soft’, as aesthetic-ridden people would call.

“So, I haven’t seen you ‘round here.”

Keith starts, leaning on the counter.

“Of course you haven’t. I don’t go out much, pretty boy.”

Is 12 pm too early to flirt?

The final answer is no.

Pico spends an additional hour and a half paying for daiquiris and rye.

Amidst Keith’s story he’s telling his coworker – something about some Halloween-dressing kids named Skid and Pump asking for candy everyday – Pico takes his first opportunity to… _bathe_ the place in his art.

He takes out a small knife and starts carving his name into the underside of the counter, taking in the sweetness of the daiquiris and the bitterness of the rye.

(The sounds of a game being started fills his ears.

Sniffling, reconciliation, and more sniffling.

“No, no, no, no- I..”)

When Pico stands up, he feels a little light headed.

He glances at the clock.

It’s 1:30, and his housemates would call him at around 2:30.

Damn it.

“H-Hey, do you need help?”

The blue-haired bartender asks, concern dripping from his tone.

“No,”

The vandal whispers, before seeing himself out.

He retches in his mind, before looking at his bike still parked there.

It’d be unwise to use it now that he’s more than a little buzzed.

He positions his hands onto the handles, and walks home.

When he plants his face into his mattress, he closes his eyes.

When he closes his eyes, he sees the starry ones of Keith’s. He sees his coworker’s beautiful smile, her silky-smooth hair, and he sighs.

Pico sees stupidly long black hair tied back by a stupidly pink headband. He sees stupidly dark hair that looks good any time of the day.

When he thinks of his own, orange and so… disgustingly _bright_ , he mumbles into his own pillow and heaves.

When Pico thinks of his calloused hands that’ve only known Nene, Darnell, their shared house, guns, murder and vandalism, he sighs.

When he thinks of Keith and his icy-cold ones from shaking the tin, he nearly dies of a certain feeling sitting in his cheeks and head.

His soul exits his body when his phone rings.

‘Nene’, the Caller ID reads.

He answers.

“Yeah?”

His voice comes out stupidly scratchy and low and all kinds of straining.

“Pi-pi! Come here and pick us up, you unadulterated swine!”

(“Pi-pi. Pee-pee.”

She once said, blowing raspberries into the dead of night.)

She’s so stupid, it’s baffling.

God.

“Fine. You know where to wait, right?”

“Huh? We’re not over there, Pico.”

Darnell’s voice cuts through the static.

Pico imagines Nene pulling at the loose strings on her clothing.

“Then where are you?”

“The new bar here, Angels and Kings. Our classmates work here, so we figured it would be cool to pass by.”

“Oh.”

The sinking feeling in his gut drops to his shoes as he slips his gun into his pocket.

“Speak of classmates, we also have a group project.”

Nene adds.

Great. Pico’s luck was so _good_ to him today.

First, he met a cute guy (and girl), now he finds out they’re his (best, but let’s say Pico doesn’t admit it) friend’s classmates?

God damn it, all to hell.

“Alright. I’ll be there in roughly 25 minutes or so.”

He still wasn’t sober.

But at the very least he can drive.

He’s a little buzzed.

Like, ~~69~~ 2% buzzed.

Pico stands, leaving his room using the aid of dragging steps.

He reaches for a glass of water, drinks, and refills it.

He repeats this a couple more times.

That should aid whatever remnant of a hangover comes.

He reaches for his car keys on the table, flips them, and mutters a soft “goodbye” to their house before closing (and locking) the door and jumping off the staircase in one second/sitting.

He presses the button to open the car doors, slipping in his seat and starting the engine.

Pico sighs heavily as he dumps out the contents of his ashtray: 5 cigarettes and a lot of residue.

He sighs, hoping the alcohol on his breath isn’t as noticeable as he thinks it is.

Pico reverses out of their driveway and drives off.

When he gets to the outside of the bar, he sees Keith and his buddy flinch through the side-view mirror.

Keith’s cheeks redden as his friend gives a small wave.

“Finally, you’re here, my dude!”

Nene yaps before helping her classmates enter the car.

“Hey, I wasn’t driving that long.”

Pico mumbles.

“That blue haired guy is Keith, and the other is Lillian. Call her Lynn if you wanna, don’t tense up.”

Darnell tells him, as Pico’s hands tremble holding the gear stick.

“Nice.. to meet ya. ‘m name’s Pico.”

He mumbles.

“Pleased to meet you.”

Lynn smiles, as Keith just nods.

Pico mutters a benediction in his head as he catches a glimpse of Keith’s bangle shining.

This would be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliffhangers !!
> 
> hi, user pippykat  
> hope you don’t mind me using your gf = lillian thing
> 
> also for clarifications
> 
> an amber moon has a raw egg in it :)


	2. Rye and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Pico chokes while driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters included :
> 
> Pico  
> Boyfriend/Keith  
> Girlfriend/Lillian/Lynn  
> Nene  
> Darnell  
> Father/ Luis (mentioned)  
> Cassandra (mentioned)

“So, Pico, how was your day?”

Darnell asks as the sound of Nene’s laughter threatens to overtake the vandal’s sanity.

“It was…”

He avoids exhaling; that would make it worse for him, Lillian, and Keith.

He inhales instead, nearly choking on his own breath.

“It was… overwhelmingly boring.”

He glances at the rearview mirror.

He makes eye contact with Keith.

Keith smiles, followed by a small wave.

The bangle on his wrist shines, the ray hitting his eye and sobering Pico just a little.

_‘Please don’t tell them.’_

Pico pleads with Keith via eye contact.

He prays he gets the message.

“Darns,”

The driver calls.

“What?”

The other replies, working on his seatbelt as the others do too.

“Wha’s this group project about?”

He tries not to slur.

“Uh. Meet new people and find out if they can tolerate you and if you can tolerate them.”

“Ah.”

“It’s more of a research than anything though. Would you be able to make friends with strangers in the span of a month?”

Lillian adds as she shrugs.

A lump forms in Pico’s throat as he listens to her tone.

Judging by it, he determines at least one of her parents is in a leader-type group of authorities.

(His worst enemy.)

Then, it clicks.

God.

Holy. fucking. shit.

“Lillian,”

He starts.

“Hm? Yes?”

“Is… your father… part of the police force? Investigation division?”

“Oh! Yes, he is. Why do you ask?”

Her eyes light up.

By god, that’s cute, but the sheer fear of authorities nearly makes him lose his grip on the steering wheel.

“I had a feeling.”

He focuses his eyes on the road, making turns in order to get home safely.

Undercover Martyn by Two Door Cinema Club plays.

“How was school?”

Pico asks.

“It went great!”

Classic.

“No annoying teachers?”

“Hm… well, that stupid art teacher critiquing everything’s still there-”

“Nene! I thought you liked her! You’re her favorite student!”

“W-Well, I do! It’s just that she gets on my nerves with the way she says anything! It’s like she’s an overseer of art or something!”

Well, Pico laughs to himself.

She did get a degree in arts, after all, so you can’t really blame her for almost acting like an art god of sorts.

“‘s that so? How ‘bout you two?”

“Uhh, same with Nene, but Algebra, really. I don’t like our lessons.”

“Me neither.”

“Who took those classes and expected them to be easy?”

Darnell snickers, much to Nene’s faux annoyance.

(The answer is Nene, Keith, and Lillian!)

“What about you, Pico? How’re classes?”

  
  


**_Record scratch, freeze frame._ **

Yep, this is him.

Pico. Drop out.

You’re probably wondering how he ended up in this situation.

“Uh….”

“I’m a dropout. Nothing more, nothing less. I drive those two dorks around and they teach me.”

“Oh. Hm… I guess that works.”

“Well, that’s fine!”

“So, I assume that this project lasts for a month?”

The orange-haired boy asks.

“Yep. We four gotta be buddy-buddy for that amount of time.”

Keith answers absentmindedly.

Pico’s words from earlier in the day ring in his mind.

_“Get me a Hemingway Special, and we’ll be best buds.”_

Who knew he could see the future?

He feels a little chilly.

“You’re wearing that cursed hoodie again? It’s cold, Pico!”

“Hey, at least I have a hoodie. Nene has a fuckin’ tank top on!”

“At home, Pico! At! Home!”

Nene screeches.

“Still!”

  
“She has a point, you two.”  
Lillian butts in, a series of light chuckles coming from her.

“That’s waaaaay TMI, Pico.”

Keith adds.

“Sorry.”

His exhale is heavy, as he pulls up to their driveway.

“Welcome to our medium-maintenance home. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here.”

Pico jumps the handrail and opens the door in the same second.

“Medium… maintenance, huh?”

Lillian mumbles as she enters the other three’s home.

Shelves full of affectionately-named trophies from various events such as “Nene’s Slaughter” (aka the one time she trumped an entire group of students from various schools in an Algebra contest) and “Darnell’s Day” (that one time Darnell spelled a stupidly long word and nail it, winning an entire contest).

Shelves full of picture frames of Nene’s wacky peace signs and Darnell’s mid-brushing hours and Pico’s big, wounded hands as he fixes their busted tire.

Shelves full of the three of them, Pico fears it’s overwhelming the two bartenders.

“So. How will you four strengthen your friendship for this project?”  
  
They all look at him.

Oh, sorry,

_Up_ at him.

He keeps forgetting he’s a little taller than the others (Nens and Darns).  
(Like, 4-5 inches at most…? He doesn’t take note.)

“Four?”  
Lillian asks.

The hairs on the back of Pico’s neck stand.

Just the feeling of the inspector's lovely daughter being in the same room as him takes him back to the times he was brought in time and time again into the interrogation room in elementary.

“Yeah, what do you mean _four_ , Pico?”

Nene asks.

“You’re joining us, whether you like it or not!”

Keith's hands hold his, as his slightly cool bangle rubs against the cold surface of Pico's wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wear your seatbelts, kids.


	3. Hemingways and (Shock) Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Pico feels metal, and the reveal of Lillian's father.

After hours and hours spent on snacking on the ribs Pico worked on earlier in the day, they were on their way to beating each other up over a game of Mario Jenga (because they’re all nerds, excluding Pico {Pico’s an expert at this, Darnell just knows.])

…

A feeling of eeriness creeps up Pico’s arms as he looks at Lillian and Keith.

A feeling of choking amidst his slight drunkenness.

When the doorbell rings, Pico freezes in his tracks, weights pull his legs down.

“Pico, get the door. You’re the closest one, dude.”

Keith encourages the vandal with a smile.

(Heh, textbook.)

Lillian waves at him.

Pico stands and goes over to the door.

His heart shatters when he sees the hands he’s been dreading for years.

“Officer… Luis.”

He chokes out.

“Daddy?”

Lillian asks.

“Pico, you’re under arrest for 12 counts of vandalism and criminal possession of a weapon.”

…

Damn it.

Pico sighs heavily, looking down at the clean, shiny shoes of Officer Luis.

Perhaps…

He got the Officer’s division wrong..

He offers his wrists so he can be cuffed.

“Daddy? Did… he do something wrong?”

Luis looks at his daughter, who’s still holding a jenga block.

“W..What? O.. Officer, you don’t-”

“I don’t what, Nene?”

“....”   
Out of the corner of Pico’s eyes, he sees his best friend flinch out of fear.

“You don’t understand, Officer.”

“P..Pico?”

  
  


“Oh, I do.”

“Pico, do something-”

“No, Darnell.”   
He whispers.

“Just go. I’m sorry they had to see me like this.”

  
  


As Pico is shoved to the back of the car, he hears a gruff “Lillian, go home to your mother.”

  
  


9:30 pm, January 3.

It’s been three hours since he’d been taken from his friends.

He’s in an interrogation room.

“Pico, Pico, Pico. You’re back.”

Pico doesn’t shake nor crumble. 

“What’re you doing roaming the city holding a weapon in  _ plain sight _ ?”

…

Plain sight, huh?

Hey, he conceals it sometimes.

But that thought won’t help his case.

He can’t answer with self-defense, as he already did so a few years back.

His response wasn’t well-received.

He inhales, then exhales.

“No answer? Then, why are you vandalizing the sidewalks with the words “kids vs. school!”, Pico? Do you have a vendetta? A burning  _ hatred _ for it, Pico?”

  
  


His head swims in the daiquiris he drank earlier.

His drunkenness isn’t gone, but only a little bit is left.

“No, Officer.”

He musters the courage to answer.

“Then why?”

“Because…”

  
  


He doesn’t find the fire to answer Officer Luis, nor face him head-on.

  
  


One hearing (or was it a trial…? Pico didn’t really listen.) later, he’s put on probation.

His probation officer is Luis.   
(Pico wants to call the guy by his name now that they’re out of the station. But of course, he doesn’t want blue balls or his spine ripped out, so he won’t say it out loud. Ever.) 

He’s sentenced to…

To… um.

Clean up his artworks.

Which isn’t too bad, he thinks.

Except it’s all over town and on different surfaces.

Sure, metal’s easy enough, just some good ol’ dish soap and warm water.

Except warm water is practically a luxury this season, so…

He heads off to home in order to sleep.

Home being a jail cell.

Being in the slammer sucks ass.

Of course it does.

It’s a familiar coldness and a familiar sharpness with the metal rubbing against his thin, green hoodie.

He worries about the loose thread that will definitely come when he rises out of bed the next morning.

Every time he turns, he feels a thread getting caught on a piece of metal.

He forces himself to sleep.

The next morning, Pico’s affectionately slapped with a microfiber cloth by Luis.

“Get up.”

No resistance.

He dies internally.

He’s instructed to carry the cloth and get some warm soapy water and that damned clay cleaning bar from somewhere.

The sun’s rays in winter suck total ass.

The back of his neck doesn’t fare much better than his arms.

He rolled up his sleeves so they wouldn’t get wet or hinder his cleaning duties.

…

Man, his arms are thin as shit.

Depressing, is the only word Pico can use to describe his current situation.

He feels at least two pairs of eyes everywhere he goes.

Man.

Well, at least he’s pretty damn safe.

Grouping the materials he’s vandalized on would be easier.

He’s painted on metal, concrete, fabric and other stuff.

He’s carved on metal and wood.

He’s carved on concrete and thrown eggs on the ruins of their old school.

He mumbles.

Okay.

Officer Luis stops in his tracks, his eyes appearing red in the gleaming sunlight.

“So, which will you clean first.”

“The… metal first, Officer.”

He has no arguments about submitting to authorities.

After all, his worst enemy right now would be impulse.

“Alright. Go on, unless you have any questions.”

“Officer.”

Pico starts, his voice dry and straining.

“What?”

“When will I be released?”

It was a stupid question.

Of course, the answer would be…   
  
“When you’re done.”

Yeah, there.

He sighs.

The 12 counts of vandalism was a compressed number.

To beat the truth out, he has over 30.

Lmfao.

They gave him just a little leeway since he was one of the living victims of their school’s downfall.

They gave him a leeway because he almost lost his life.

But today was one of the days he would pay,

One of the countless days at least.

He was taken into custody the same day that his school lost its life.

He was taken in for questioning.

But then, now, here he is, an adult.

A barely-normal adult scrubbing down imaginative figures born from his ruined childhood.

Damn that.

Damn that Cassandra – damn them to limbo, as hell is where they were born from in the first place.

He scrubbed against the vivid, color-shifted paints he worked with within hours.

Within hours.

These were representations of his loneliness, of his guilt, of the chasm wracking his brain for revenge.

And now, he was forced to scrub them away.

He was forced to push everything into the back of his mind.

Things he could never share with his best friends.

Things he could never tell anyone.

“Keep scrubbing.”

  
  


“Officer.”

  
“What?”   
  
His voice is gruff and low, pained with experience and professionalism.

“Are you appalled by the fact your daughter is friends with my friends?”

Pico expects a dismissal, similar to “Don’t ask such nonsense. Keep working.”.

“No. I’m not appalled.”   
  
“Then what?”   
The question comes out soft.

“Surprised.”

Pico stops scrubbing, looking at his efforts.

The metal wall of the (somehow still operational) packaged foods factory shines in the rays of the sun.

It doesn’t have that newly-bought (or installed, actually) shine, but it’s better than nothing.

A few more metal surfaces.

Pico, upon instruction, walks to the next location, his hands hanging onto broken pipes and moldy walls.

“Pico,”   
“Yes, Officer?”   
  
“Do you think you saved your school from its problem?”

  
Through parted lips and a clenched jaw, Pico mumbles an answer.

“No.”

“Speak louder, Pico.”

Amidst his gentle scrubbing, Pico bites the inside of his cheek for an answer.

“No, Officer. I don’t see myself as the savior of my school.”

It’s the same question and a slightly modified answer as from the set before all those years ago.

“Good to know you don’t see yourself as a god.”

Why would he?   
He nearly murdered Cyclops, Hanzou.

He actually killed Cassandra.

Pico thinks.

He laughs to himself at the thought of him getting absolutely ripped because of how much effort he’s putting into scrubbing these few year old spray paint.

He still has a long way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe Pico gets arrested in Chapter 3 smh
> 
> again, the writing of this entire work is a little closer to TM, but still retains that "charm" from A&A / C&F.


	4. Curaçaos, Guilt, and Gold Memorabilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Pico's getting comfortable being in jail.  
> That isn't healthy, he decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams pedestal*
> 
> your honor i didnt mean for them to be like this

7 AM, January 10. 6 days, 12 hours, and roughly 30 minutes since he’d left his home.

Six days of scrubbing, asking questions, and giving answers.

Six days of eating canned fruit and drinking noble fruit juice.

Six days of a distant feeling in his bones, like a weight tied to his ankles.

He's feeling at home here, on probation, in what is essentially a resting place for criminals.

It isn't healthy.

This _isn't_ healthy.

Nobility, he realizes, is an issue school needs to solve.

Has the means to, but no action is done.

The show that was playing 6 days back in Angels and Kings is playing again.

_ “Kyla, you- you didn’t have to tell them, but yet you did, didn’t you?” _

_ His expression is dark, seething, filled with malice.  _

_ “Kylaaa…. You DIDN’T have to fucking tell them-” _

_ He steps closer to her. _

_ “Why did you?! Our lives are in some fucking  _ **_danger_ ** _ , Kyla. You can’t just tell them-” _

Ah, the life of Alex Beausoleil.

Imprisoned in his former position.

He can’t seem to remember why Nene likes the show so much.

He doesn’t want to remember.

  
“Pico.”

Ah.

Officer Luis.

His best, best, beeeeeeeest buddy.

“Who’re you eyefucking?”

  
Code speak for “Why are you staring so creepily?”, Pico learns.

As much as he wants to answer “your wife.”, he bites his tongue and stays a good boy.

“You’re finished with the metal surfaces, what’s your next call?”

…

“Wood, sir.”

Pico tries his hardest not to make a vulgar joke.

He doesn’t want a fate like those in The Massacre.

Pico sighs, as he follows Officer Luis out of the precinct and into the streets.

He sees Darnell and Nene outside.

He doesn’t move to them, only waves.

Pico expects them to be mad at him, and Luis tugging at his arms.

What he doesn’t expect is Luis encouraging him to go to his friends, with shackles around his wrists.

He does so, reluctantly, his frame nearly disagreeing with the entire building structure.

“...Hey, Darns, Nens.”

He whispers.

“Hello, Pi-pi.”   
Nene’s smile is painful to look at.

“Hey, man. We’ll get you out, I promise.”

Pico smiles, chuckling.

“Darns, I’m on probation.”

  
“...What?”

“I’m on probation,"  
Pico states, matter-of-factly.

"Were you not informed by Lillian?”

Nene's eyes widen.

“N...No. Right after that, she and Keith distanced themselves from us.”

Ah.

So that’s why he feels like utter shit.

Because he lost two friends.

…

“Are they gone forever?”

“They just needed time to process.”

“How about that group project?”

Luis is a ticking time bomb.

“...We’re just avoiding talking about.. your situation.”

Pico’s trying to meet their gaze.

Nothing.

Luis tugs.

  
  


“Bye now. Stay good in school.”

Pico smiles as he walks away.

On the way to the back area of the supermarket, where excess materials were stored, Pico spots a pile of animal feces on the sidewalk, in the junction between concrete and grass.

He smirks and chuckles to himself.

  
  


Pico trips over his own foot on purpose, forcing Officer Luis to step back and pull him back up.

Problem is, he stepped in animal shit.

It’s a win for Pico.

And a loss too, if he thinks about it.

If bitch boy Luis finds out Pico tricked him into animal shit, that’d be damaging for his impression on Lillian, and to an extent, Keith too.

  
  


After several dozen scoldings and wrist slaps and painful wood scrubbing, he’s sent back into home –

a room at the end of the precinct, away from the rowdy prisoners who were almost like family to him.

Almost, because his family was outside, being good students in school.

This isn’t jail, Pico reminds himself.

This is the first step to limbo.

  
  


….

  
  


Over the course of the next few days, Pico’s been scrubbing and sighing and annoying Luis.

It's now 3 pm.

He doesn't have the energy to look at the calendar in the cafeteria.

He misses everyone.

Nene. 

Darnell.

He misses Keith.

He misses Lillian.

  
  


He misses himself, content with what he has.

Now, he just wants more work to drown out his wants and needs.

His mulling is shattered when a guard knocks on the metal door.

“Someone’s here to see you.”

Huh.

Someone?

But don’t they have school at this hour?

…

Pico shrugs as he walks from his personal limbo to a room that faces the outside world.

He faces a phone booth.

Damn it.

Well, it’s fine, he tries to reassure himself as the phone rings, its cord swaying slightly.

He picks it up.

“Mornin’.”

He tries to open casually just in case.

“Oh. Um. Good morning, Pico.”

Keith’s staticky voice makes Pico’s heart clench and quiver.

An exhale from Keith.

“...I’ll cut to the chase. I… I’m sorry-”

Keith chokes up.

Pico’s exhale is barely picked up by his receiver.

“For what, Keith? You did nothing wrong-”

  
  


“No, no,  _ no _ ,”

That brokenness in Keith’s tone splits Pico’s heart in half.

“I… I’m sorry for treating your friends as outcasts, Pico.

I… I’m so…”

Sorry?

Pico can’t chuckle at this as he does in his head.

Because this is a new person he’s talking to.

Not his best friends with the driest humor on the planet.

“You…”

Pico’s word closes into a soft exhale. 

“You don’t have to be sorry… not for me, not for us.”

  
  


Pico stares at the steel wall in front of him.

Generally, when someone apologizes, it means they care for you a lot.

If so, then…

Does that mean…?

He hears Keith's fist bump into the steel wall separating them.

"Please, Pico."

Stop digressing, Pico tells himself.

Keith sounds...

broken.

He sounds like he's missing... a lot.

He sounds as if...

he'd break, with just one word from Pico.

“W...What I’m trying to say is-”

Pico keeps his mouth shut as his other hand cards through his hair.

He oughta get a hair tie and tie his hair back; it’s getting long.

A bitterness Pico can only attribute to curaçao snakes up his throat.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, or your friends.”

  
  


_ We didn’t mean to hurt you, or your friends. _

  
  


“I didn’t mean to distance myself as much as I did. I know this is a hard time, and yet-”

Pico sighs.

“Keith, listen to me.”

Sniffles.

He hears a few staticky mumbles from the other end of the line.

“I understand why you did what you did. Seeing a guy getting jailed on your first day of meeting ‘im doesn’t exactly make a good impression, eh?”

Pico chuckles softly.

“It’s harrowing, so I’m sure they understand why you and Lillian did that.”

He hears his voice soften as he asks a question.

“...again?”

Pico sighs.

“Can you repeat that, Keithy?”

The nickname rolls off his tongue so naturally; he flushes at the realization.

If Luis were here, he would probably be smirking in that stupidly put-together uniform.

His breaths become shaky.

“I… I wanted to ask..”

“When.. can I- no.. we...

When can  _ we _ ... see you… again?”

_ When can  _ **_we_ ** _... see you… again? _

…

He recycles Luis’ words., with a few additional words.

“I’ll be able to see you nerds when I’m done – don’t worry your sweet little head.”

Pico chuckles.

After a few minutes of trying to help Keith calm down, Pico hangs up.

Reluctance in admiration is dangerous, Pico knows.

Reluctance in life is a double-edged sword.

Admiration.

He admires Keith.

For what reason?   
His mind isn’t sure.

Maybe it’s because he’s easy to talk to.

Maybe it’s because Keith is a dork, and he’s stupidly cute.

Maybe it's because Keith seems kind. He seems to care a lot for the people around him.

Maybe because he wants a future with more friends.

_ “...We’re just avoiding talking about.. your situation.” _

Pico didn’t have time to ask how their project was going.

Were they able to tolerate each other?   
  
There’s really no doubt about that.

He knows he doesn’t have an impact on their project – he’s a dropout, after all.

He prays that they get along well.

His situation doesn’t have to hinder them from completing their project.

He walks back home.

“...Pico.”

“What?”

“You’re being relocated.”

“To where?”

A gesture.

He’s led to a barren area, devoid of the snarling grass and gnarly flowers Nene usually picks out.

A small house.

If you could even call it that.

Upon closer inspection – it’s a concrete pig pen recycled to make a small home.

Solitary confinement, but probation edition.

It’s a house, alright.

When he enters, he doesn’t expect a developed picture to be on the bed with a more than used mattress.

He turns it around, and he’s greeted with the faces of his best friends and their project groupies.

(He’s also greeted by something cold.)

A selfie.

Nene wearing some of Lillian’s accessories in her hair, and Lillian wearing one of Nene’s stupidly pink (and many…?) dresses.

He sees Darnell and Keith rummaging through his stuff in the dark of his room.

He notices that Darnell’s wearing Keith’s hat, while Keith has Darnell’s dumb campaign poster in his right hand, where his bangle’s…

Wait.

His bangle’s gone.

  
  


When something slips and fits onto his wrist, his breath clogs his airways.

It’s…

It’s Keith’s bangle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo boy.
> 
> pico's really deep into this huh
> 
> please feel free to interact w me about my works or fnf in general,,,  
> my instagram is @velaijn (surprise!)  
> you don't have to though :))  
> anyway, thank you for the support!  
> kudos and comments are appreciated :))


	5. Meetings, Bangles, and Vandals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Pico dreams.

2 in the morning.

Keith’s bangle sits pretty snugly on Pico’s wrist.

The embedded jewels shine brightly in the moonlight.

Lately, he’s been using his voice lesser and lesser each day.

“So, uh, Luis. We gonna see the missus or something?”

“I don’t think she’ll give me dinner... today.”

Dejection is a hue Pico never thought existed in his buddy's arsenal of inflections and tones.

(Or would that be buddae? He’d thought he heard some sort of British accent from Luis once, or that was sleep deprivation.) 

“Huh? Why? You can’t satisfy her no mo’?”

Luis scoffs, then waves Pico off.

(Probably busy or something.)

“Just go to sleep.”

  
  


“Can’t; you literally woke me up for your lovesick blues and _now_ you’re tryna get me to sleep?”

“...Right.”

Old love.

A mystery.

“While you’re here, Luis, can I ask you somethin’?”

“What?”

“If I told you I look up to you, how would you feel?”

Proposition.

Pico’s words are laced with genuineness.

  
  


They aren’t his strong suit, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

Luis knows.

Luis definitely knows.

Pico knows the old man isn’t shit at thinking.

No answer.

The vandal only hears a heavy sigh, and then the sounds of shoes kicking against the gravel, moving further and further away.

Ah.

Officer Luis left.

Pico shrugs. 

It’s fine.

He pulls out the second and third pictures he got from his friends.

The second one is a picture of Darnell with whipped cream around his mouth, and Keith beside him with a peace sign, holding a banana split in his other hand.

Seated across them is Nene, who’s wearing one of Pico’s fingerless gloves and one of her few turtlenecks.

(Come to think of it, where's the other pair of his glove?)

He assumes Lillian is taking the picture.

A scribble on the back reads, _**“Destroyed some other school kids – feeling good! We miss you, I guess.”**_

Darnell’s handwriting.

The third is a picture of all four of them sprawled across a wooden floor, adorned by the soft lighting provided by a fireplace, of sorts.

They’re cutting out cardboard houses, presumably to help Darnell and Nene live a past they didn’t deserve to lose.

On a scrap piece of paper in Keith’s hand reads: _“No lighters, Darnell!_ ”

The scribble on the back is in cursive script.

It isn’t _neat_ by any means, but the effort counts,

It reads, _**“Apparently Mom found us like this. We’re apparently now comfortable enough with each other to the point we sleep beside each other. I hope it isn’t too cold there! XOXO <3”**_

A creeping feeling runs up his back as he stashes the two pictures with the older one underneath his pillow.

Chills travel up his arms.

The bangle on his right wrist shines as the moonlight hits it.

It’s beautiful.

Pico believes he doesn’t deserve to hold such beauty close to him.

He drops himself onto the mattress.

-

One step, two steps.

Coldness seeps into the soles of his feet.

His toes dig into the rocks as he trips and stumbles.

The ocean breeze weighs on his shoulders.

This is a dream, he mumbles to himself.

There’s no way reality is this ethereal. There’s no way it’s peaceful, nor forgiving.

  
  


Because, life, as Pico knows it, is rough. It is harsh, tough, and unforgiving.

It is judgemental – it is as light as it is dark. Equal in hope and despair, leering gazes ready to spit at his every step.

Equal, yet unequal in every way.

Such an error is unacceptable, yet it’s tolerated.

Pico sighs, as his sweater sways with the ocean breeze, tattered with use and age.

He feels the breeze pepper kisses on his skin, passing through the holes of his sweater.

He is a free man in this paradise. 

His hand cards through his (below the shoulder) hair.

When he pulls his hand back with some hair, they’re stained with a red he knows he’s familiar with.

He feels a hand snake on to the back of his neck.

A foreign sensation freezes his legs in place.

Freezes his entire body in place.

“Piiiiiicoooooo.”

A voice.

It isn’t Hanzou’s, nor Cyclops (fuck that one-eyed bastard, pissing all over the damn bloody school floors.).

It’s Cassandra’s.

The person who ruined his life.

Monotonous, up until the day of their death.

Pico wishes he burned Cassandra’s body.

He feels a hand grip his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare forget me, Piiiicoooo.”

-

He opens his eyes abruptly, sitting upon his bed.

He checks his hoodie for signs of wear and age.

He checks for holes too.

None.

He grips at the nonexistent hair growing below his shoulders.

Not a strand was caught in his fingers.

He checks for any signs of a hand on his shoulder.

None.

None whatsoever.

No monotone voice scratching into his ear.

No ocean breeze.

Just a vandal in a repurposed pigpen.

The jail door shakes in its frame.

He sees a sturdy hand slipping in through the bars.

“Pico?”

His breath is caught in his throat.

“Pico, you’re off probation.”

Concern laces his tone.

“Come out now.”

Pico scoffs to himself, as he swipes at his bed, folding the sheets and stacking the one pillow on itself.

He stuffs the polaroid print into his pocket, biting at his lip.

“Am… I really off… probation?”

Pico receives only a gruff ‘mhm’.

“Get to the front of the station. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

It’s the tone in Luis’ voice that’s different.

…?

It resembles the tone the officer uses when he’s busy with filing mounds of paperwork all stamped with Pico’s information.

The vandal nods, walking to the front of the station from the side – a shortcut he learned from Officer Davis, resident coffee maniac.

He gets to the front of the station when he registers a hair color he’s seen before.

…

It can’t be Lillian. She’s probably still… scared, maybe, of the situation Pico’s in.

He concludes it’s The Missus(trademark.).

When she turns around, he resists the urge to turn around.

It _is_ The Missus.

She’s….

Attractive.

There’s nothing more he can say.

There’s a mature aura to her, and a kind aura and soul somewhere beneath like her douche of a husband.

He avoids looking at the boob window on her dress.

He's reminded too much of Luis'... "wardrobe malfunctions" around the torso area for his stupid uniform.

They truly are the perfect match, he thinks to himself.

“Pico, is that you, young man?”

Young man.

He cringes, as he extends a hand with a nod.

“Good to finally meet you, Pico! Luis has been blabbering about you for _weeks_!”

...Weeks?

Amidst Missus’ phone typing, Pico gathers the courage to ask.

He notes that his voice is strained.

“May I ask what date… it is?”

He reads her lips.

Her lips are red with lipstick, full in volume.

Plump.

_‘The twenty-fourth of January. Six-thirty in the mo’ning.’_

The… 24th?

That marks the 20th day of his absence.

In short, 2 weeks and 6 days of probation.

Almost a month.

20 days, 12 hours, and a few seconds.

Pico takes a deep breath. 

Somehow, his greatest fears are confirmed when Luis’ voice strikes him straight in the head. 

“You’ll be meeting your friends today.”

Now, he wishes only for erectile dysfunction to go Luis’ way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated :))


	6. Longing, Meeting, and Holding.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where you long.

A deep exhale comes from Pico.

Red situates itself on his cheeks, as he listens to Luis and his Missus in the kitchen.

He longs to touch someone in the way Luis wraps a steady arm around her waist.

Intimacy, he remembers, isn’t the thing meant for him –

but he wants to try.

He really does.

So when his hands and arms itch to climb out of his pockets and around Lillian, Darns, and Nens a few hours later, he gives in to the feeling.

Just to give it a shot.

He feels… comforted.

He feels… good. Really good.

A smile finds itself growing on his lips.

This is the happiest he’s been in weeks.

When he feels their arms wrap around him and the others, he feels that  _ this  _ is nirvana.

He hugs them tighter.

“You missed us, Pi-pi?”

Nens asks.

He isn’t afraid to nod.

“Good!”

She huffs.

“We missed you a lot!”

She adds afterward.

Later.

He doesn’t dare about Keith, as he scratches the back of his neck.

Darns smirks when the light reflecting off of the bangle hits his hair.

It shines beautifully at 9 am.

  
  


“That’s Keith’s.”

It isn’t a question – it’s a statement.

The reflection that the bangle and light cast is ethereal – unreal.

He wishes someone’s hands would wrap around his wrist.

He wishes.

How he wishes.

He wishes to pepper kisses on his partner’s skin, make them feel euphoria, make them feel so  _ loved _ .

He needs to be grounded and loving someone would be ground enough for his desires.   
  
  


When he hangs out with the two adult lovebirds one Friday morning, he notices their gazes so full of love and admiration.   
  


That Friday happens to be the first Friday of February.

As the Missus (he learns her name is Sue? He really doesn’t know. Missus is better, anyway.) picks out clothes from piles higher than her husband’s ego, he’s beside himself.

He sees a large hand, a little larger than his own, handing him a cup full of corn.

He takes it, giving in.

His cheeks flare as he thinks of a certain bartender’s hands in his.

Pico munches on corn as Luis babbles about his wife.

  
  
  


“Do you like Keith?”

Somehow, the question doesn’t pinch at his insides.

When he thinks of a future where Keith and Lillian aren’t present, he bites the inside of his cheek.

He hasn’t met them, he understands – and that, to him, is what makes his desires outlandish and childish.

He sighs, spooning a few spoonfuls of fresh, warm corn into his mouth.

  
  


“When love approaches you, take it.”

That’s the only piece of advice Luis tells him, before lighting a stick.

Pico remembers vague recollections of Keith’s warm hand snatching a cigarette that dangles between his lips.

The bartender crushes it, gauging for his reaction.

Problem is…

Pico hasn’t smoked in a while.

Not since the shooting.

He’d never met Keith during that incident, so why would he have memories of something that never happened.

When he confides in Missues (heh.), she hums in delight.

“Mhm! I’ve had those too, when I was your age, Pico.”

As he munches on her (almost-too) spicy red velvet muffins, he listens to her.

“I summarised them to be projections of my desires!”

It flicks a switch inside of him.

  
  


His heart chokes on its blood when he sees Keith in person, lying down on the grass in the park near the station.

He remembers scrubbing on the pavement that lines his boundaries.

He gazes at Keith’s peaceful form, before whispering.

“Hey, Keith.”

The bartender’s eyes shoot open, widening out of surprise.

“P...Pico!”

Pico doesn’t expect his body to nearly crash into the blue-haired boy’s in a soul-raising hug.

The way Keith’s arms link and hug his frame melts Pico’s thoughts.

Keith is warmer than his dreams let him think of.

Keith is more human.

Keith is himself – and Pico loves him for it.

But it feels wrong – he isn’t supposed to want to feel things for someone he knows nothing about.

Reluctantly (and some part of himself is at war – he  _ wants  _ to and  _ doesn’t  _ want to.), he wraps his arms around Keith’s waist.

A redness covers Pico’s cheeks as they pull away from each other.

“I… I know this is gonna sound weird and all but I really, reallymissedyouPico!”

Through the stream of words that sprung from pretty Keith’s pretty lips, Pico is able to somehow make out the last four words.

_ I really missed you Pico! _ _  
_ _  
_ His mind replays it thrice over.

Thrice, twice,  **once** **_._ **

  
  


A pretty shade of pink covers Keith’s cheeks as he grasps at a tin beside him.

“I want to get to know you more.”   
  
Pico manages to rasp out, his breath hot.

Their hands connect, as Keith bites at his lip.

  
  


He feels his throat’s muscles quiver as he anticipates Keith’s response.

“I… I feel the same way.”

  
  


Pico learns that Keith found out about their old school, and the horrors that laid within.

He also learns that Keith is a sucker for daiquiris, hand holding, electric guitars and unironically – mood rings.

He also learns that Keith stole a bandana he owns.

Pico’s heart flutters when Keith shows said bandana stashed away neatly in his pocket.

Keith expresses his readiness to learn more of Pico’s view on the old school situation.

When he finishes his mini-rant, Pico fears he’s scared Keith away.

The only response he gets is the usual, “I’m sorry you three had to go through that.”

Somehow, that feels more honest.

More raw. More heartfelt.

Keith learns that Pico likes whiskey, scotch, and rye. Pico spills that he’s willing to give and receive hugs (a revelation that clicked in his head around January 24).

Pico also spills that he’s wearing Keith’s bangle.

  
  


He wants to kiss Keith on the cheek, as a pretty, pretty shade of red rises up his neck and cheeks.

The night ends with Keith’s cheeks red from a few kiss-induced blushes.  
  
The night ends with Pico's heart nearly satisfied with his work on Keith.

His hands reach for Keith's.

"Is it okay if I ask for another?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried writing Pico wanting to hold and be held.  
> its hard to describe, so please feel free to comment if i did so in a way that portrays it poorly!
> 
> kudos and comments are appreciated!
> 
> (i made a disc. bot for this work  
> its so cursed it won't even run)


	7. A Whirlwind of Actvity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Whirlwind of Activity.  
> How.....  
> ironic.

When he opens his eyes, all he sees is a dark world filled with desaturated roses and magnificent busts of people he’s seen before – Hanzou, Cyclops, Cassandra.

He spots busts of the Uberkids, Jon, Sam, and Fred.

He sees a bust of Nene and Darnell.

He sees a full-body marble statue of Luis, Sue, and Lillian.

His vision darkens as he focuses on a marble statue of Keith.

His hand raises as he strikes the mallet.

When he opens his eyes a second time, he’s in bed with Keith, no longer encased in his marble statue.

His ears process a series of gasps and sighs.

Intangible.

Pico is intangible in this vision of Keith basking in his privacy.

Keith’s hand slips under the band of his basketball shorts.

Pico flushes – he knows what will happen.

It plays in his mind.

  
  


His cheeks retain a dark shade of red as he listens to Keith’s soft gasping and name-calling.

Pico spots condensation spouting from his mouth.

He wishes he didn’t read Keith’s lips.

_“Pi...co… please, pleasepleaseplease-”_

A soft curse comes from Pico’s lips.

A degenerate.

He wishes he could…. _Ahem_ , help.

His ears turn warmer and warmer the louder Keith’s gasps and moans are.

His cheeks feel strangely full of blood.

His body feels strangely warm, and he wakes up, gasping for air.

A mass of limbs drapes over his body.

Darnell’s hand lies on his stomach, uncomfortably holding onto Nene’s.

Her other hand sits on his knee, with Lillian's on top.

Lillian’s other hand is connected with Keith's, and Nene's hand holds his other.

Her hand connects with Darnell’s.

Keith's hidden hand holds his tightly.

Lillian's holding a stuffed toy in her other.

Full circle, Pico sighs as he wills away something extra that awoke with him.

He reddens when he sees Luis peering at him from the second floor.

February 25 – curses and benedictions crawl out his throat as he sighs into the nipping air.

It’s almost the end of winter and the start of spring.

He snorts when he spots his best friends (yes, all 4 of them) making flower crowns from glued-together wilted flowers.

They make a crooked flower crown for him, and he keeps it on all day.

When Darnell and Nene are called in for their third round of exams, the remaining three decide it’s back to basics.

By basics, they mean interrogation of what happened while he was on probation.

“Probation wasn’t too bad,”

Pico starts.

That was wrong. It _was_ bad, but Luis made it bearable like the himbo he is.

“Having to scrub away my memories, my past –”

He pauses. It hurt. 

It still does.

“Having to scrub them away hurt too much to handle. I considered lashing out at Luis at one point.”

Pico’s exhales are heavy as he takes in the bar he was once at.

The rye travels down his throat smoothly.

Keith and Lillian watch him with concerned gazes.

  
  


“Every day… it felt like I was… rippin’ offa piece ‘f me.”

He doesn’t slur.

He _won’t._

The bourbon goes down his throat – 

Was that his fifth shot?

It doesn’t matter.

He reaches for another bottle, to which he is presented with water.

“Pico, please.”

It spills from ~~_his_~~ Keith’s lips, but not in the way it did in his dream.

Not in the way he subconsciously wants.

  
  


“Limbo.”

He starts and ends again, as he downs the glass of water.

“Probation was a ground where I waited for freedom.”

It was true.

  
  


When he learned Keith and Lillian avoided his friends for something _he_ did, something broke

inside him.

Something tore itself into pieces.

Something… happened.

  
His left-hand flicks open his switchblade, carving names into the underside of the counter.

"Dreams are eternal.", he carves as Lillian scolds him for drinking way too much.  
  
  
You... probably shouldn't be serving him anyway, Lillian.

Three hours later, he and Keith are at a bus stop, waiting to be brought to Darns and Nens.

Pico is buzzed.

Slightly.

“What… am I… to you?”

The question burns Pico’s insides like wildfire.

It sears his flesh easily, charring its ends.

He feels every nerve in his body combust and join together – a fine mixture of shame and hindsight.

The only thing he receives is a tender kiss on the lips.

  
  


He doesn’t know what he is yet to Keith, but he supposes it’s fine if he soaks in his desires.

The bangle on Pico’s right wrist shines, as he pulls Keith closer.

Pico supposes amidst his drunkenness…

That this is a tale of bangles and vandals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the support, everyone! 
> 
> may add more to this series, but if you don't want to wait and want more of my writing, please check out my other works!
> 
> [The BnV bot provided the ending for this chapter.]
> 
> please feel free to comment critiques or provide tips on how i can make my writing better, what i should’ve done etc. thank you again for the support!

**Author's Note:**

> References :  
> The Massacre (another work of mine; thought it would fit well as a background show.)  
> Skid and Pump!!! children


End file.
